Draconia Anglo Saxon
by BlackWolf2Dragoon
Summary: The tale of Alfred the Hero in his quest to save King Arthur Pendragon and his son. AU, based on legend of King Arthur, no yaoi this time, fyi, one-shot. T for violence.


Wow, okay this has been written out for a while... I just... forgot about fanfiction for a while. Oops. I'm a terrible person.

This is something different that came out whilst in the process of writing some of my other stories. You know how it happens. Then I forgot about it for a while because I had no inspiration and University is really hecktic, I'm not even joking. Then along came my friend Megan's birthday, so I finished the rest off for her birthday as a present! c: I sent it to her personally and she likes it so much that I figure I should post it online for all to read. It's only fair since I haven't updated much things in yonks xD

Enjoy~! **NOTE: My old English is shite, but yes there are probably some very British words in here. I hope it's not too complicated for people to understand, that just wouldn't do.**

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Draconia Anglo-Saxon

Once upon a time, among the land of Camelot, a King once stood taking charge of the kingdom. His name, Arthur Pendragon, stood still in stone and statue. For years, he kept his kingdom safe; with his close defensive group, the Knights of the Round Table, no French troops had stepped foot into the castle town of Camelot. Along with his trusted wizard, Merlin, the kingdom of Camelot knew peace and harmony amongst its own kind.

That was, until, something terribly terrible rode up its ugly head upon the kingdom of legends.

Without a trace, without warning and without notice, Arthur Pendragon and his only heir, Peter Pendragon, disappeared and the body of Arthur's wife, Gwenhwyfar was found dead in their bedroom. It was unknown of how they both came to disappear during the night as well as Arthur's wife having been killed, rumours of huge numbers spread across the kingdom in worry. Had they been kidnapped? Ran away, perhaps? Or, had they gone hunting and gotten lost? Were they killed, captured, being tortured against their will? Nobody knew what happened to their beloved king or queen of Camelot.

Alfred F Jones knew the story many times from his mother. Every so often, he would ask her to read it to him. Alfred, you see, had an ambition. His ambition was to become a hero. To do that, he needed to find Arthur Pendragon and his heir, Peter Pendragon. He knew that when he grew up, he was going to become a knight and head out to save the King of Camelot. To save his own kingdom was his big dream, his very reason for living, and he wasn't going to give it up for anything. Not friendship, nor family, nor love, nor loyalty, nor promises. That was his one big promise in life, to save the Pendragons.

Usually, he would ask for his mother, the night the stars twinkled brightly in the sky on a summer night, to read him the Camelot story. This time, she had something different in mind.

"Alfred, dear?"

He looked up at his mother from his bed of hay, a simple blanket to keep him warm in summers and sometimes winters. It was harsh, but Alfred knew a hero was always strong and took it like a man. "Yeah, mom?"

His mother came into the room, her dress dirty from cleaning after the livestock. She alone looked after the livestock as Alfred's father had gone off to war against the French, only to never come back to welcome his family. It was common for sons to not know their fathers, even in Camelot, for battles still raged outside and an army had to be sent to deal with it.

His mother was smiling, but it didn't hold the same lift as it usually did. That was usually a bad sign. Had something happened? Alfred turned around to face her fully, wondering what was wrong. She was still smiling as she finally spoke; "There's been more news on our king and prince, you remember those stories I told you about?"

Alfred nodded his head enthusiastically; of course he would never be able to forget! His mother giggled slightly before she continued; "Well, it seems that a group of knights managed to find Prince Peter Pendragon, though there is no sign of our dear beloved King, it at least makes it easier for our kingdom to recover." Then she frowned, something that Alfred hated seeing upon her kind face, "But there's bad news; it seems that there is a terrible fire breathing dragon holding the prince hostage and he cannot escape. Only a couple of knights managed to get back alive."

That was bad news, but it seemed that upon her white face, there was more bad news. "It's White Devil."

That was indeed bad news, the worst for this kingdom without a king. White Devil was called that for a reason, not a reason any should be proud of, not even the dragon himself. White Devil was a white dragon, a supposed symbol of purity, and for a while, he was. He lived nearby Camelot in the mountains to the north within English borders; he kept the Scottish and the French away from attacking Camelot, always frying them to a crisp the moment he spots them. He was well known for having a family, what humans call a wife and child, mayhaps the reason for fighting off all those humans rather than for Camelot, but it worked in their favour and they ne'er complain.

That was, until he went rogue. Not many were completely sure what happened, but it was told that The White Dragon of Anglo Saxon, better known in those days by that name, a hero's name, returned home to find his wife and child killed. In a fit of rage, he brought it down among the people of Camelot without warning. He burnt the entire town to cinders, leaving very few survivors and disappeared into the sky. Nobody ever found the reason why, but legends tell that he found a new family and had calmed down and was never heard from again. Until now, it seems.

Now White Devil had returned, this time killing a wife and husband and taking their child. A prince, no less! Again, inflicting pain against the kingdom of Camelot, where he before looked after it and even accepted people into his forests without complains, though never the cave. What could be the reason for his turning rogue, par possession by a devil? That's what many had thought, and still today Pilgrims make a trip to White Devil's old cave to leave wooden crosses and burning candles as well as flowers in memory of their old guardian in the hopes of ending the devil inside it. Camelot came to the tradition of leaving crosses hanging from many walls, hoping to keep the strong devil at bay. That was years ago, but it seemed that the tradition would fall back into place now that he had returned.

This hindered Alfred's dream, but he wasn't going to give up. He was going to grow up and become a knight, defeat the dragon and save the Prince of Camelot in one fell swoop! It would take many years, but he knew he would do it.

Ambitious was the kid, perhaps stupid, many would claim insanity, but the kid trained hard and long. He ne'er stop for breath, water or food. He did the chores to help his mother and the jobs his father would've done over the years and eventually lived up to his promise to becoming a knight. Alfred the Brave many would've called him, others Alfred the Gullible or Alfred the Rash, but there was no denying his bravery or his commitment to his own goals. His best name, Alfred the Hero.

Over the years he trained, stories came back about White Devil. It was history repeating itself; only White Devil was destroying Camelot in a different way. Because there was no ruler, the government fought about every decision, once coming close to an invasion of France if it weren't for the knights' incredible numbers to stop them. Camelot was breaking apart, slowly but surely, without its beloved king, queen or prince. It worried Alfred, but it was a good thing he had now become a knight. He was given many tasks, to fight off the French, the goblins and the trolls out in the wilderness and sometimes wolves that preyed on the helpless villagers through the forest.

But then the day came when they found him worthy. Found him worthy of an army to fight White Devil. It was a last stand, for they were running low on knights to save the poor Prince, but they couldn't allow the town to be defenceless. His mother was, as every mother should be, worried.

"Alfred, are you sure you're going to be alright?" She asked, although she knew the answer already. To better reassure herself, mayhaps.

Alfred sighed; "Of course, mother, I'll be fine. I'll beat that big dragon up and be home in time for tea!" He smiled, reassuring his mother that being a hero as he was, he would be fine. He hugged her, kissed her on the cheeks and waved her goodbye before he rode off towards the mountains with ten other soldiers to their River Styx (1).

It took them three days and three nights. Within those three days and three nights they fought off many goblins and trolls, passing through the thick forest, passing White Devil's previous lair and further beyond the crystal clear lake of Camelot where the fairies gather in their huge numbers and during twilight hours, one would see the lights of a city to be born and built. Further onwards they went until they finally arrived to a clearing, beyond that clearing lay a pathway, beyond that was a mansion of a huge size that was unlike anything the soldiers had seen.

The mansion stood tall enough for a giant, the doors for a giant, the road for a giant and the trees for a giant. As if they entered the land of giants, the soldiers continued onwards with swords drawn at the ready. None of the ten soldiers, including Alfred the Hero, felt safe underneath the trees, mansion and skies of giants.

Without warning, upon arriving to the mansion, the doors swung open, as if by magic by their mere appearance.

"Good evening, fine fellows in reflective gear!" A voice called out from the open doors and as the soldiers turned, startled by the voice, they saw with their own eyes a normal man wearing somewhat wealthy clothes of bright red royalty with high boots and white gloves fit for a king. Green eyes glanced at the soldiers and he shook his head slightly, his mop of blond following its path as he grinned at the group upon horseback. "What brings you here to this fine mansion?"

No soldier stepped forward to greet the stranger or to answer his question nor question him. Alfred, being the hero that he was, decided to step forward with extra naivety, having dismounted from his steed and, sword still unsheathed, called to the stranger; "You there! What be you?" He stopped fifty steps from the stranger, refusing to get closer.

The stranger smiled a not friendly smile, remaining where he was yet still welcoming in sight. "The master of the mansion, I be! Arthur Kirkland you'll call me." The stranger replied, before bowing slightly. "You knights of ten and one, do you require a place to stay the night or have you business?"

Alfred looked back at his knights, they were all exhausted and a place to sleep that seemed safe was too tempting to pass, alas he didn't trust the stranger called Arthur. "How do we know you won't kill us, poison us, trick us, hurt us or take us?"

Arthur smirked again, turning around to head back into the mansion with the final call of; "You won't know; it is the risk you must decide for yourself to take or leave." The mansion doors remained open for them to decide their fate, to stay in the unknown wilds or move into the unknown?

It took them barely a fleeting as the knights made a choice to take their chances in the mansion of unknown, the mansion belonging to Arthur Kirkland, whom hadn't moved that far and was heading upstairs.

"Oh, jolly good! Be aware to not enter the room in the tower, for a most fair thing is resting there." Arthur told the knights, leaving to give them free reign of the castle as he did. With a warning like that, they wondered what a thing most fair would be. A fair maiden, perhaps? Treasure? Object of desire? Numerous possibilities fleet across their minds all at once.

In the end, many of the knights decided to stick to the owner's advice and found the bedrooms without a problem, but Alfred couldn't let go of the words from Arthur Kirkland. Arthur looked familiar, even sounded familiar, the name was familiar, the coat was familiar, but nothing stuck. Something wasn't right, a haze of something terrible hung in the whole of the mansion. Something was wrong, _very _wrong. Alfred wasn't about to hold back and let it slide.

Frustrated, the Hero got up from his bed, putting on his armour and sword and shield, just in case. He opened the door and saw the long corridor and the wide windows showed that it was fair into the night. There was no sign of Arthur Kirkland, yet the candelabras all along the corridor hanging on the walls were lit. Someone was still awake. Hero took his chance and walked down the corridor, sword to his hip, shield in hand, ready for anything. More candelabras were lit along the corridor, the corridor still quite dark and eerie because of the low light only the candelabras gave.

Alfred reached a door, heavy bolted and clearly saying "keep out", though with no actual sign telling it bluntly. It was clearly not a bedroom, but perhaps a dungeon, though Alfred doubted it. He didn't think as he grabbed the hoop to pull open the door, the door groaning as it did. Jones kept an eye behind him as the door slowly opened and he quickly slipped through and turned to see what lay behind the forbidden door.

It was a garden, a garden of roses no less. It was something Alfred hadn't expected, a huge field of roses stretching for a few metres all ways around with torches all around the protected field that had fencing all around, a scarecrow stood in the centre, also with a torch and looking up there seemed to be a room brightly lit with candles of what looked like a tower. Alfred couldn't see where the tower was from the ground, the torches not lighting up the entrance. He could guess where the tower was, but grabbed a nearby torch to be on the safe side and waded his way around the roses towards the tower. Again, the same bolted door was there, only this one seemed more used than the previous door, though still held the 'keep out' feeling. Alfred opened the door regardless, rash as he was.

It was a mere staircase; the torches that used to burn had burnt out never to burn again. Unnerved but not letting it get him down, Al moved up the winding staircase slowly but surely. The top of the staircase stopped to a door that wasn't bolted and easy to open from the other side. So when Alfred had opened that door, he hadn't expected to see a human being behind it. The man was about the same age as Alfred himself was with unkept hair as well as wearing expensive clothing of royals, a small crown upon his head and as the man turned around he held sharp emerald eyes.

Alfred put a hand to his sword quickly, but kept it in its scabbard just in case, for fear made the hare flee. Afraid of the truth, Jones asked the man to state his name.

The man seemed to frown, understanding coming to his eyes; "Peter. Peter Pendragon," he answered. Alfred's fears were right. "What are you doing here? Where's father?"

Father? "Your father? We haven't seen him, was he captured with you?"

Peter shook his head, eyes with the look of panic. "No, you don't understand!" Before he could say anything further, a loud roar shook the room and all around it. The pair quickly ran towards the nearest window, looking outside to spot a giant white dragon, with angry but glorifying red wings (only the skin of the wings were red, the scales were still white) that were as long as towers were tall, thick spines along its back white as bone and sharp as swords, a thick long tail perfectly capable of knocking down buildings and the scales along its underside were bright scarlet of war. Its head was fierce, with several spikes for protection shooting out the back like horns and its mouth filled with sharp teeth and a long burning tongue. To top it off, at the end of its four legs and four feet were those long sword-like claws and the mountain of mountains, the seething hell-fire hot flame breath.

Nearby the dragon, more dire in need, were all his knights, some on horseback and others running for their lives with only shields to protect them. They were flung around the place like wooden dolls, mere play things of children rather than the knights of King Arthur. Even as they were the knights of King Arthur, the dragon was simply too large and too powerful for them to deal with.

But they had to try, Hero thought, knowing that that was probably their best option as the dragon started tearing through the rose bushes. Turning back to Peter Pendragon, Hero knew what to do.

"We have to get out of here, quickly!" Alfred told Peter, grabbing his hand and pulling the young man down the stairs, out the tower and quickly trying to head for where the door to the castle had previously been, now a simple gaping hole in the wall where the dragon had crashed through.

Jones had thought that, because the dragon would be distracted, that it wouldn't have possibly heard or caught sight of the pair of them as they ran for their freedom and safety. He was very wrong.

He was suddenly blasted backwards when a jet of hot flames shot out in front of him a few feet away, the heat and power of the flames strong enough to almost throw him backwards into the path of what he believed was White Devil himself. He fell onto his back, Peter along with him to the side, but because Hero had so much armour upon him, getting up was similar to that of a tortoise pushed onto its back.

However, the huge face of the beast, White Devil himself, was enough to scare the knight of King Arthur into throwing himself back onto his feet, ready for battle. Out he brought his mighty sword holding the crest of Camelot and up he brought his shield defensively to fight against the large beast. However, comparing it to the might of White Devil, it made Hero and his weapon seem like simple ants, an army that was too small in numbers to defeat the magical being.

"White Devil," Alfred the Brave, Naive and perhaps Rash called out to the mighty beast, believing it could speak or at least understand, "Is it you, is it not?"

Peter looked quickly at Jones, worried and confused, but quickly turned his attention back onto the mighty white dragon. The dragon seemed to hiss and growl, but paid attention and stopped moving to hear the Hero out.

"If you can speak, speak to us! You who saved our people once before, kept us safe, now you terrorise us and kill us. What is it that caused this? What have we done?" Alfred the Hero, desperate to know the cause of the madness in White Devil's heart. He read the stories, been to the cave and had talked to priests who blessed the White Dragon of Anglo Saxon's actions to keeping Camelot alive, only to hear the Priests themselves crying and mourning as if for the death of their mighty guardian. Killing White Devil without knowing the reason would've broken Jones' heart and soul, he had to know.

"**YOU.**" Was all the dragon had to say, before it lowered its head and began to shrink to a more human size. It took the time of three seconds, before a human being lay before Alfred Jones. The human, Arthur Kirkland, who had invited them inside the mansion in the first place. A trap, intended from the beginning.

Arthur wore the same pieces of clothing as earlier, the red robes of royalty, only his green eyes flashed in anger and determination, unhindered by the now dangerous sword that Hero had still pointed towards his chest, his heart.

"I gave you my hospitality, I gave you a place to stay, food, a place to clean, a place to heal. I gave you a simple instruction; do not go up the tower. You humans could never follow simple instructions; I was hardly hindered that you daren't listen this time!" Kirkland shouted at the knight, almost hissing as the dragon would do. "Listen, now, listen my dear human friends!" Kirkland clapped a few times, signalling for everyone to start listening as he raised his voice for all to hear, all that were still surviving, still living.

"Many a question, I bet you are holding, but fear not for I shall answer them all! Yes, dear Hero, it is I, White Devil, but only a devil should you cross that line. That boy you hold captive right beside you, he be the Prince of Camelot, just as you entailed he would be. Trapped in a tower, guarded by a dragon, such a fairytale like story!" White Devil laughed. "But as we all know, gentlemen, stories have twists and plots that differ them all. Just take a good look and you'll see what I mean. You see right there the prince is safe and sound, but yet you see no sign of your beloved king, how could this be!"

"Now this is where it requires some thought, some thinking for scholars, one might then say. I have lived here before Camelot was born, kept the land save and allowed you to build. Up and up, Camelot was built, but not without the help of your trusty dragon. For I kept the Scottish, the French and the Welsh safe from your lands to see another day whilst you then continued to build and build, then live and live. All I did was ask one thing, you left me and my family alone and I would let you build your own home nearby, where you had my protection just as my family did."

"You kept to your word, for several years now, but then I came home to find my home dead. My mate, she lay down in a pool of her own blood and my sons and daughters, all crushed and mangled. I caught the scent of the one who did it, a hunter it was, a hunter in Camelot." White Devil scowled, his voice growing deadlier and deadlier as he accounted his tale. "So I burnt the whole town, the town had to pay, for the town it lied to me, lied it did, lied! My family was dead and my life was destroyed, that was until I met a young woman."

White Devil seemed to calm slightly, but still accounted on. "She was a child back then, a small child, having lost her family to the flames. Never did she know that Mr Arthur Kirkland had burnt the town down. Pity her I did and those deep eyes of hers, whilst young they knew knowledge and untold stories. Then she lowered the load, a princess she was to be! Nevertheless, my black heart went out to her and I ne'er left her, taking care of her whilst repairing the damage to Camelot, all for her."

"She cared so much for me, knew that I was different but didn't care. How different it was to care for the child. But years grew on and she noticed no age difference in me, but still she didn't comment nor rant about it. Slowly the feelings of friendship had changed, became something more I hadn't felt for years. For my cold heart warmed at the sight of her smile, my dear old dragon heart fell in love with a human. We loved and we married and built things together, never would we separate nor argue away. A son was soon born, a prince he was to be, life seemed bright for my cold heart again."

Then White Devil's eyes turned vicious, he looked around frantically, making sure everyone was still listening, paying attention from detail to detail. "Then I found her, with that twat of a knight! Betrayed me she did, betrayed me and my son! Humans, all humans were the same, no matter how different they might appear to be. So I killed her, killed her for lying to me and took my son away from the poison of you all!"

It daren't take a genius to figure it out, Alfred knew as he stood there, things clicking together. Peter Pendragon, the prince of Camelot. Yet here Arthur stood shouting at them all, cursing human beings and cursing them all. Yet he was White Devil which took on the human form, unlike anything Alfred read in the stories. A dragon, by the name of Arthur. A dragon. By the name of Arthur Pendragon.

"Surely not!" Alfred shouted out as it clicked in his head. White Devil then turned to face the sword and shield, a smile on his face so unfriendly the demon would beg.

"Indeed, you see it, the facts and stories. For the name of that hag would be Gwenhwyfar. And the son that you seek is right beside you, Peter Kirkland. Better known, Peter Pendragon." The soldiers all the around, the slow thinking soldiers, all gasped in unison at the folly of it all. "Yes, and here I stand, your king and leader, the one that brought you life here in Camelot. Kept you safe from the harm of outside, kept you fed and watered and hidden, but large and powerful, always to rule! For t'is true! I am the one, King Arthur Pendragon of Camelot!" Arthur laughed at the faces of the stupid, watching their eyes turn pale at the knowledge. "Now, my knights in shining armour, you should leave and ne'er you see this. Leave Peter to me, back home where he belongs and go forth back to your silly little Camelot. I spare your lives if you keep mine hidden, but should any talk, you ne'er talk again."

Alfred Jones, being seen as the leader role of these group of knights, didn't know what to do. Here he stood in front of his king, who he learnt was the White Dragon of Anglo Saxon as well as White Devil, and being ordered by his king to go home and pretend he saw nothing at the cost of his life. He had lost many men to the dragon already and the dragon had shown his true power, he was little match for such a thing of beauty and hell. But Alfred was a Hero, and heroes never quit. He didn't think he could life with himself having to lie to the whole kingdom of Camelot that both the king and prince were dead when they were very much alive.

That was not what a hero did, but he could hardly kill the king himself, could he? Despite being a dragon, by law, Arthur was still his king, his order, his leader. He should just do as his king had ordered; do as he had been told. But he just knew he couldn't life with himself if he let the king get away.

"Surely, there must be a way to convince you to come back? Camelot needs a king or prince; it can't survive without either of you both!" Hero tried reasoning with the pair of dragons, assuming the prince was one, as the knights looked at him in surprise and horror.

Arthur snarled, but he remained in his more human form, for talking as a dragon lead to communication difficulties. "Why should I care about that town when it gave me nothing but pain? I built it, but still you all hurt me, why should I return to that?"

"But it didn't give you anything but pain! Don't you see that pain is something you have to endure; it's the part of living. If you didn't have any pain, you wouldn't be alive for only the dead feel nothing. Camelot gave you something to live for, as well as your family and Camelot hurt you as well, like your family must've done as well, but in the end pain is just a part of it, something you have to endure to achieve it. Isn't that showing you something? Didn't Camelot make you happy at all?"

Arthur couldn't answer; he was taken by such surprise that a knight had such an opinion of all things. He expected a magician or a warlock to know those things, not a knight. He knew that what the knight said was true, whilst he did enjoy what Camelot had to bring, it gave him almost unbearable pain. He knew for sure that if Camelot was to throw another, he would not survive it with his sanity intact.

"Whilst what you say is true, Camelot has gone too far, as any son or daughter has done, and for that I shall abandon it as I would to my failure of a kin. Camelot will have to survive again without its loyal guardian for a change. Peter! Come, let's go." Arthur turned and walked away, expecting Peter to follow.

But Peter didn't follow, whilst he easily could. He watched his father's back move further and further away, until he managed the courage to speak for the first time on solid ground. "I'm not going."

The words were like a sword, the sword Alfred could've thrown but didn't right into the back of the angered dragon. Turning quickly on the spot, his eyes flashing in anger and fury, Arthur replied, "What did you say?"

Peter shifted a little under his father's gaze, uncomfortable and frightened, but he stared back and repeated again, "I'm not going."

Arthur crouched slightly, snarling and glaring at his only son left that was now betraying him. "Yes, you are. You can't think the human race would spare you the pain I have gone through, I'm doing this to protect you."

Peter shook his head, becoming desperate for his father to understand without it getting out of hand. "I know, but I don't need protecting anymore, father! I'm old enough to leave the nest; I want to stay in Camelot! I loved my friends back in Camelot, and the maids and the food, sometimes it got painful because of what we are, but it was worth everything that Camelot gave me. I was born in Camelot; surely I should be able to stay!"

Arthur snarled again, angry at his son's defiance. "When these knights tell the kingdom of your breed, they will hunt you down. I cannot allow that to happen, not again! You are coming with me, Peter Kirkland, and that is final."

Peter, having been quiet and docile through the whole conversation, suddenly growled, surprising the group of knights. "No, I'm living my own life and I want to live as the King of Camelot."

Arthur, in a fit of rage, grabbed hold of his son's arm, pulling him away from the knights and about to move away with Peter when Alfred raised his sword hand to the sky and the archers behind him let loose. Their arrows flew, high above him, and struck Arthur on the arm. With a sudden howl of anguish, a howl so inhuman, so devil-like, Hero shivered hearing it going through his entire body, King Arthur began to change shape, the arrow snapping like a twig, the damage forgotten.

Peter turned quickly to the knights. "Quickly! You have to return to Camelot with haste! Don't rest until you touch the stone steps of Camelot Castle!" Without being told twice, the knights quickly turned and ran for their horses. The knights of ten and one, now four and one, quickly mounted upon horses and galloped towards the direction they had come from.

They didn't look back as they heard the roars and cries of giant monsters from the skies.

For the first day, they hadn't heard anything and didn't feel at ease to camping. The horses were too tired to gallop much further, so they had no choice but to camp for the night and hope that the shadows of the forest would hide them from the sight of White Devil.

As the sun came down and the moon rose, it seemed to work. The moon wasn't full enough for werewolves, so the knights had little to worry about and they fell to sleep to rest for the next day.

A few hours into sleep, something tickled Hero's nose enough to wake him up. The sound of a spark reached his ears, making his mind wake up with a flash of terror. It was the kind of spark, the breed of the spark, that jolted him to wakingness. Looking through the branches of the trees into the distance, Alfred Jones could spot a light far away, a light that shouldn't be there in the dead of night. The sparks grew louder, as did the roar of hell's brethren itself. A forest fire.

With haste, Alfred got onto his feet and woke the rest of his knights into the world of wake. The knights didn't waste time in grabbing their horses, mounting and leaving. The only problem was that they were low on lamps and they were moving too fast to see very far into the darkness of the forest where the moonlight didn't reach them. They tried to slow down for the light of the lamp to show more of the forest to avoid killing their mounts, but it was incredibly difficult with the rage and the howls of the fires burning the forest alive with its hatred.

Then they heard it, the roar of an angry dragon. A single angry dragon. White Devil. None of the knights could see the white dragon, too deep in the forest to spot the white beast, despite its colour. Looking up into the air was difficult, for the low hanging branches whizzed past their helmets, knocking a few off of their heads as they brushed past them on their escape.

Fate was not on the Hero's side as a lower than normal branch hung, avoiding the light and his eyes and tackled him off of his mount. The rest of his knights failed to notice in the panic of running for their lives and left Alfred Jones alone in the forest without a light or mount. He could still hear the forest crying out in pain as it was being burned alive, the animals of the forest ran off in fear, deer, wolves and even the odd bear was running for their lives from the forest, from what Alfred could hear. He couldn't stand around, but he knew walking in the dead darkness of the forest was a dangerous thing to do.

Fortunately, he didn't have to choose. Unfortunately, White Devil chose for him. Suddenly, a white claw swiped down from the trees and grabbed hold of Alfred. Kirkland didn't squeeze, but he didn't need to to determine Jones' fate. It was as if the icy grip of death itself had grabbed a hold of Hero and pulled him away from the forest of darkness and into the skies that held the same darkness, but that extra pressure of emptiness and fear that came with death.

Alfred accepted his fate, accepted death and knew he had lost, for he knew with a simple sword and shield, he couldn't win.

So, when another dragon snatched him out of the hands of White Devil, just as the devil's head was leaning down to eat him, imagine the face of our fabled hero as he was rescued by the most unlikely angelic being; Peter Kirkland. In his dragon form, he was a light blue in colour with a white belly and protective underbelly covering, he carried the same shape and defences as his father did, only not as well developed. He couldn't match his father in speed, but at least he gave Alfred a chance at surviving and stopping his father from shedding more blood across the land.

Peter quickly built up speed, his sight designed to see in the dark as he flew higher above the trees to avoid hitting any by accident as he heard his father quickly catch up, taking flight into the air to chase after his prey.

He flew as fast as he could, but he was no match for his much elder, much more experienced father, who caught up with him easily and pushed him off course and into the ground. Peter crash landed, not badly, but enough to shock him for a moment. Alfred Jones crashed too, dazing him in his heavy armour as he left marks of his crash, his sword's hilt hitting his hip several times and his shield on his back protecting it better, but still damaged it enough.

Laughing with glee, Arthur Kirkland walked his way to Hero's lain body. "**YOU SHOULD'VE LEFT WHEN I GAVE YOU THE CHANCE.**" White Devil told him, snarling as he did so. "**NOW YOU SHALL DIE AS NAMELESS AS THE REST.**"

Alfred looked up to meet White Devil's gaze, no less accepting of his fate as before. With determined eyes, he said his last few words: "I don't feel ashamed at dying by a dragon, but I do feel sorry for the thing that killed me." With that, White Devil's head flew down to destroy the helpless and unfortunate knight of King Arthur.

There was a cry. A cry of pain. A cry of anguish. A cry of defeat.

However, not from Alfred. For in the final moments between life and death, his mind had gone into autopilot, unable to accept the early gift of death. The final action he made before death was brought; he raised his sword up into the air. Up into the sky. Up into Arthur Kirkland. Up into White Devil. Up into King Arthur Pendragon. The cry was the dying cry of the ancient dragon as the sword had slipped into the creature's mouth and through his brain. Having a better survival skill than the humans, the dragon was still conscious through the pain and he cried out in pure agony as he was forced to feel the sword drive right through his brain before he died.

Arthur quickly pulled away, shocked and in pain, pulling the sword with him as Alfred Jones had the sense to let go and watch as the white dragon writhed in pain, his tail swishing from side to side, destroying any trees nearby and head being thrown side to side from the nerves that were reacting to the pain, yet slowly dying. His wings flapped uselessly as he took a few steps back, staring at Alfred in disbelief as he realised that he was dying, he was defeated, killed, by his own knight.

And yet, despite his death, despite his hatred for anything human, especially for his old abode Camelot, Arthur couldn't help but feel the least proud that at least a knight of Camelot had managed to kill a dragon. He had done that kingdom proud.

With that dying thought, King Arthur Pendragon fell forwards onto the ground, wings lying useless on the floor wide spread, his tail splayed on the floor lifeless and his head slammed onto the ground as he slowly died. His eyes remained open, staring at the knight that had killed him, watching as the knight stood up, shocked at what he had done, probably had only just realised what he had done. The dragon continued to watch as Hero walked slowly forward, until he knelt down and looked directly into the eyes of Arthur Kirkland. What he could see was so many emotions, pain, fear, hatred, defeat but most surprising, pride.

And then, the giant eye closed forever.

The clouds turned grey and soon it began to rain, as if the world itself was crying over the loss of the ancient white dragon. For the white dragon had protected the land for so many years, it became like its mother or its aunt. Now it was gone forever and the earth had to cry.

Peter Kirkland, now back human, couldn't believe it. His own father, the one he looked up to, the one he believed in, was now dead. He always believed that if anyone could ever live forever, it would be his father. Now he was gone and he was never coming back. He knew that his father had done terrible things. He burnt down Camelot once, he killed Peter's own mother and he intended to do the same thing to his own knights that served him with great loyalty. But he had built a kingdom, he had raised it from the grounds, protected it, kept it alive, gave it knowledge, he created a race of people and nobody but he and Alfred knew about it. Arthur Kirkland died as a monster and not a mother creature that had given life to an entire kingdom that only killed him and his family in return.

A part of him wanted revenge, to kill Alfred for killing his father, for making him an orphan. He quenched that monster down quickly. It wasn't Alfred's fault, Peter understood that. Alfred acted in self defence… nay, Alfred's body acted in self defence and Arthur paid with his life. Revenge wouldn't bring his father back.

But he could never hold the tears that dragons were never meant to make fall. Dragon tears, the thing that was called impossible, fell down his cheeks as he sobbed and mourned for his father's untimely death.

Alfred couldn't bear to watch the dragon break down, but he couldn't help it. That poor boy was wretched from his father's death, the boy now an orphan, and it was Hero's own fault. He felt sick to have caused this. He couldn't help but let out a few tears of his own having listened to the son's grief, having caused the death of his father and the sadness of seeing a great legend having die at his hand.

When they both finally returned to Camelot, they were returned with a heroes' welcome, although neither of them felt like they deserved it. Once they got to a high point for all of Camelot to hear, they told the story of how Arthur Pendragon had been killed by White Devil and that there was nothing that either of them could do to save him. Peter also accounted to how Alfred and his knights had saved his life and the knights didn't dare call them out for their biggest lie they ever told. In the end, however, Peter felt better. His father, the father he was so fond of, would be remembered as the one that had served Camelot well whilst he was alive and that his son would do him proud in leading Camelot into victory for many years to come.

That was how Hero became what he was, one of Peter's personal knights of the higher order, to his mother's glee, and kept Peter safe for ages to come.

* * *

I did say I'm a terrible person. WELL that's that. Hope you enjoyed this one shot and maybe more might be on the way! (Don't hold your breath xD)

~Blackie


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